The Infamous Ellen James(21)
Well hello there, vagina! Nice to see know you're still there.
I sit back down at the bar and listen to Johnny tell his latest bar story of a guy's jealous girlfriend lighting his truck on fire in the parking lot. I can definitely relate to this story and the fact that crazy bitches need to light shit on fire. I was more than ready to set John's cheating pecker ablaze when I caught him mid-thrust in another woman's cock pocket. I may be partially evil, but the satisfaction I would have received to witness John's dick and balls going up in flames would have been like five Christmases, twelve birthdays, and ten Fourth of Julys all rolled up into one delightful holiday.
The more John pisses me off, the harder it is for me to even remember the good times we shared. After his lame attempt to pour his heart out by the fucking jukebox, my brain only seems to be able to remember the bad times, the really shitty times, and the times that make me wonder how I ever accepted his proposal of marriage. Maybe his dick's need to fuck whores with sloppy juice-boxes actually saved me from making the biggest mistake of my life. I should probably write his dick a letter and thank him for saving me from a life of misery and regret.
It's a shame Hallmark doesn't have cards for occasions like these.
What would you say to a penis?
Do penises even like thank-you cards?
These are the kind of thoughts that run through my mind. I start thinking about what I would actually write if I wrote a penis a letter…
Dear John's Dick,
You, my horny friend, have saved my ass from a terrible life with your dickbrain owner.
I only feel gratitude towards you and your ability to find every whorish snatch in a one-hundred-mile radius. You and my vagina had some great times. Lucky for me, your
average-sized length and slightly-too-small girth were able to bring me to climax…on occasion. I enjoyed your enthusiasm, especially for my tits and my mouth's ability to make you blow your load. In an odd way, you will always be remembered as the penis who saved my life.
Thanks for the subpar thrusting!
Ellen
Someone clearing their throat causes me to glance up from my daydream about sending John's penis a thank-you card. Amy and Trent are both looking at me with curious yet amused expressions. I look down and realize that I wasn't just day dreaming. I have written the entire letter on a paper napkin.
I just wrote a fucking thank-you note to my ex's penis on a bar napkin.
A small laugh escapes me as I attempt to nervously crumple up the napkin before either of them sees it. Amy is like a god damn cat hopped on speed-laced kitty litter and quickly manages to get the pseudo penis letter out of my grasp. She begins to read the napkin and I can see her eyes getting more excited with each word. By the end of the note, Amy practically falls off of her barstool in hysterics. Her laugh is so contagious that I just start giggling right along with her. Both of us are leaning on the bar, tears streaming down our cheeks as we gasp for air. Trent is looking at us like we are complete lunatics, but I can see a little spark in his eye. That little spark tells me more about him than he will ever know. He looks genuinely happy seeing Amy and me laugh, and I feel my vagina warm up to him a little more.
Yes, my vagina is obviously a sucker for guys who are sexy and hot and well, sexy. I just might be crushing hard on Trent Hamilton. And no, it's not the alcohol or my vagina talking this time.
"So do I get in on this little inside joke?" Trent flashes an adorable grin.
"I'm not sure if you want in on this. It has something to do with my ex-fiancé." I'm sure my facial expression shows my discomfort with the idea of telling him about my past relationship with John.
"You mean your ex-fiancé John Ryan?"
"Shut the fuck up! How do you know about Dr. McDouche-A-Lot?" Amy has generously given John this nickname, which is really kind of perfect.
"Dr. McDouche-A-Lot? Holy shit, that's hilarious!" Trent's husky laugh echoes throughout the bar.
Sheesh, that husky voice makes my nipples harden instantly; it's like his voice has a direct line to my tits, making them act like little puppies begging for his attention. And now it's safe to say that I'm more than just a little buzzed. Whenever I find myself comparing my tits to puppies, I think we can all say the alcohol is copiously coursing through my bloodstream.
I decide that now is as good a time as ever to let Trent know about my past with John. I give him the short and sweet version of the story, skipping over the horrible details of witnessing John with his pants around his ankles, sliding his dick in and out of coworker's meat curtains. Trent just listens and takes it all in, not judging or scrutinizing my past. He only shows understanding towards my shitty relationship and how terrible the past three months have been. I find myself opening up and explain my motivation for writing that ridiculous thank-you note. In my mind, John and I are most definitely in the past. I know we shared happy times together, but as I look back and ponder on our relationship, albeit drunkenly, I realize things weren't exactly fairytale perfect.